


What Happens in Vegas

by Rustler



Category: Oz (1997)
Genre: F/M, Oz Magi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 15:04:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rustler/pseuds/Rustler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some single-malt, a little X, and a whole lotta Bonnie. The night Chris got his defining tattoo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens in Vegas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roxymeloni](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Roxymeloni).



They crash into the room, laughing, Bonnie juggling a glass of complimentary champagne from the casino floor, while Chris sings some stupid French song that was playing in the elevator in her ear. There's a bottle of single-malt waiting and open on the coffee table, just like he ordered. Sweet.

Chris loves Las Vegas. You can order anything, any time, and nobody bats an eyelash so long as you've got enough of the green stuff flowing. Tonight he ordered a honeymoon suite for his bride of two whole hours. It's the craziest thing he's ever splurged on here – two huge rooms with one wall of all windows looking out over the neon circus of the strip.

Inside, everything looks like it belongs in a fucking villa – not that Chis has ever been to one, but it's what he imagines: all curlicued and painted with gold and cream colored marble. Lots of velvet and tassels. There's a chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the front room with teardrops of cut glass dangling down that catch the bright lights outside and send little rainbows dancing across the walls.

Chris glances over to see what Bonnie thinks of all this. She's not so much blushing as flushed, with wide, glassy eyes – flying on X and champagne. She's wearing a new dress Chris bets is probably the most expensive thing she's ever owned, showing off her cleavage nicely, and the sleazy goombah of a fake preacher who married them down at the Ringing Bells Wedding Chapel just smiled at the wad of bills Chris passed him and he talked to Bonnie like she was the prettiest little bride he'd ever laid eyes on.

Kitty, see... Kitty was gorgeous and knew it. She primped and pouted and always wanted answers: why do we have to go here? When are you coming home? Where did this money come from? Chris should have known better than to have fallen for her typical blonde charms, but what was done was done. He couldn't ever really regret a piece of tail that fine, but they'd pretty much been over by the time the honeymoon was finished.

Bonnie though... Bonnie knows the score. She looks at Chris adoringly and never asks stupid questions. She wanders around the rooms of the suite, bumping into things and laughing, and Chris wants her now, pushing her down onto the gold and cream velvet sofa.

They fuck for the first time that night in a giant pile of tasseled pillows. They're all hiked and unzipped and shoved aside -- grunting and grinding together just the way Chris likes it. Bonnie coos softly like a little bird when she comes and he empties himself into her with a satisfying groan. A moment later Bonnie pulls a pillow out from under her ass and starts laughing again at the dumb little embroidered long-eared dog they just fucked on.

"You having a good time?" Chris asks, disentangling himself from her to stand. He's glad he sprang for the suite. He fleeced that old couple good, but it was really more of an education than anything else. Should've tuned them up well for the swarming vultures they called children who'd be after the remains of their fortune soon enough.

Chris shucks off his new tux pants and peels out of the crisp, new white shirt he'd bought for their spur of the moment wedding. Bonnie nods quietly and stares at his body with hunger. So he wanders, naked now, to the air conditioning controls by the window and sets the suite a few degrees cooler. Being high makes him sweat like a motherfucker, and Bonnie's always too warm anyway.

"This was a good idea, huh?" He doesn't really expect her to answer, just keep nodding quietly.

Bonnie is usually pretty quiet on the subject of their relationship, like she doesn't want to jinx it. Chris has called the shots from the beginning. Bonnie accepts. She accepts everything, and Chris thinks he really might love her.

Chris pours some of the single malt into the heavy glasses set out by the hotel staff, and hands one to Bonnie.

"Cut crystal," she says admiringly, holding up the glass, glowing amber in the light of the chandelier. Then she turns and looks at Chris, eyes that soulful liquid brown that always gets to him. "This is incredible."

"I want you to feel beautiful," Chris says, tucking a lock of lank hair behind her ear. He should have sent her to the salon too, the whole works, but once the cash came through and the idea of getting married hit him, he couldn't have waited another moment.

Bonnie just nods and blushes, sipping her whiskey, and Chris wants to fuck her again, to feel her enveloping softness all around him. He knows it will feel like forgiveness.

They make it to the bed this time, and Chris lets Bonnie drape her dress over a big tufted velvet chair because he knows she loves it and doesn't want it to get torn or come stained.

The bed is huge, California King, and even Bonnie looks lost in it, swimming in gold satin and piles of pillows.

"Come here, princess," Chris laughs, chasing her down across the bed and she's giggling and jiggling, pink-flushed skin and then there's a flash of dark pubes and the deeper, lusher pink of her cunt, glistening and welcoming. Chris has to grab her and pin her down with her wrists above her head, falling onto her, pushing into her, loving her surprised little gasps and moans of pleasure as they rock together, slapping wetly, full and complete.

They doze a while. When he wakes, it's still dark, but Chris is feeling the first headachy pangs of sobriety beginning to creep in around the edges of his awareness. Fuck no, not yet. He hauls himself out of bed and hunts down his crumpled pants on the floor, rummaging around in the pockets to find their last couple hits of X.

"Here," he says, shaking Bonnie awake and passing another glass of single-malt into her hands along with the tab. "This is good stuff," he adds as his own begins to hit, re-awakening his high. He smooths the satin of the sheets over and over again, amazed at the slick glide of the fabric under his fingertips.

"Wow," he hears Bonnie's voice soft and amazed, and when he glances over at her, she's doing the same, running her hands over the sheets, mesmerized. She catches his eye and grins widely. "This is so good."

"So fucking good," he agrees, nodding. Then he points at his chest. "I'm pretty fucking good too."

"You are," Bonnie says, but in a husky whisper this time, shoving the sheets down the length of her body, exposing herself.

This is new: an earthy, raw confidence that looks good on Bonnie. She's the one who pulls him down this time, straddling him with a sudden ease, moving her bulk over him, pinning him onto the bed and they're both laughing as she sinks down onto his hard cock with no pain, or sadness, or shame in her eyes.

She's flying – but Chris is the one who feels like a god.

She rides him, over and over, closing her eyes, moaning, clutching and gasping and Chris is the one who has to cry out at how incredible he feels; how invincible.

A fucking god.

"You are," Bonnie says in stoned, breathless wonder, wiping the sweat cooling on Chris's forehead when she finally rolls off of him. "You are."

"Yeah," Chris agrees. He's grinning hugely, so high. He's fuck-energized, and the whole world is beautiful. "I should get it tattooed to my fucking body so everyone who sees me will know."

"You should," Bonnie says, tucking herself up against him as well as she can. Within moments, she's snoring softly, but Chris doesn't feel tired. He could go all night like this. And he can't get the idea out of his head.

A fucking god. A god of fucking. He glances down at Bonnie, fat and pink, like his own goddamned cherub. He made her feel like this. That's got to mean something. She's pretty great, but he's got powers too.

He shakes her awake again.

"Come on, you wanna come with me?"

"What?" she blinks up at him, smiling, soft and tired.

"There's a place we passed on the way in. All-nighter. Let's go get inked."

Bonnie grins up at him and rises without question. "Let me get my new dress."

"You do that, sweetheart," he says, watching her struggle with yards of silk.

Fuck. Yeah. He's gonna do it. He can see it: Christ crucified. And every slob on the strip will know who he is, for real. Bonnie already knows, why keep it a secret?

Chris Keller. Immortal.

They'll score some more X while they're out.

 

– The End --

**Author's Note:**

> Request 2:  
> Pairing/Character(s):Keller/Female  
> Keyword/Prompt Phrase:How many times?  
> Canon/AU/Either:Either or crossover could be fun too.  
> Special Requests: het slash, kink,romance,angst,roughness all good. No rape or non-con please.  
> Keyword/Prompt Phrase:How many times?  
> Canon/AU/Either:Either or crossover could be fun too.  
> Story/Art/Either: Story please


End file.
